There Is No Going Home

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘Yes, I would. It’s your turn to make the coffee, Artie,’ he shouted.

  Ena scribbled a note and pushed it across the table. BUGS. Sid nodded.

  When Artie brought in the coffee, she showed him the note and said, ‘How about some music, Artie?’

  Artie put down the tray of hot drinks, went to the wireless and turned it on. Singing along with Pat Boone and ‘Ain’t That A Shame,’ he took a screwdriver and removed the panel on the back of the wireless. Shaking his head he replaced it. Still singing he joined his colleagues at the conference table and entered into a conversation of no importance.

  When they had finished their coffee, Artie took the dirty cups back to the small kitchenette and washed them up making sure he made a loud clatter picking up and putting down every item of crockery. Ena pointed to the telephones on their desks and Sid put up his thumb. Starting with her own telephone she unscrewed the mouthpiece, and then the earpiece.

  Singing even louder to Bill Haley and ‘Rock Around The Clock,’ Artie checked everything in and around the drink-making area. There was nothing.

  Having found no listening device in her telephone, Ena ran her hand along the underside of her desk. She mouthed the word nothing to Sid who was on his knees doing the same. Ena checked the typewriters while Sid looked under the conference table and chairs.

  ‘Well?’ Artie called.

  Sid shook his head and joined his colleague at the store cupboard on the far wall. When they had looked everywhere they thought was possible to conceal a bug, Artie put up his hand. He pointed to the only window in the room. Not a window at all, but a kind of priest hole that had once looked out onto the courtyard before it had glass in it.

  Sid lifted up his several dictionaries. Nothing was hidden behind them. Nor was there anything secreted between the old blackout blind and the new curtains.

  Ena raised her shoulders and let them drop. Where would I put a listening device, she mused. She cast her eyes slowly around the room and suddenly a thought materialised. ‘I checked the letter box when I came in but there was nothing in it. Did either of you collect the post before I arrived?’

  ‘The postman hadn’t been when we got here this morning,’ Artie said, ‘I’ll see if there’s anything in the box now.’

  Ena followed him out the office. There was no post. ‘We only have until tomorrow at five to get something on Frieda Voight, so go to the HO, pick up a telephone van and drive up to Holland Park. See if there’s any movement in Dean’s Crescent. I want to know if Frieda is living there. If she hasn’t shown up after three hours, give the door a knock. You know the drill. Say several residents in the Crescent have reported clicking noises on their telephone line. They’re bound to think it’s bugs and ask you in. Once you’re inside keep your eyes peeled for photographs of Frieda and the man I told you about, the man I saw her with outside Selfridges.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘It’s a big place. There’s bound to be a cook and a housemaid, as well as a manservant, which means there’ll be telephones downstairs. If the cook, or anyone else, asks if you’d like a cup of tea say yes and get them talking. Cooks and housemaids love to gossip.’

  ‘And if the Russian is there?’

  ‘Ask him if he’s had any trouble with his line. If he says no, don’t push it, apologise for disturbing him and leave. If he looks unsure, ask him if he would like you to test the main house telephone to be on the safe side. If he says yes, check it, thank him, and get out.’

  When they went back to the office, Ena wrote a note and gave it to Sid along with her house keys. ‘What time is your mother’s hospital appointment, Sid?’

  Sid understood what Ena meant straight away. ‘Eleven.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘I’ll have to leave in ten minutes if that’s all right?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Sid read the note. Go to my flat. Check for bugs. If none, fine. If you find any, dismantle. Stay and work from my place today.

  Sid winked. ‘I don’t know what time I’ll be back. It’s a nuisance having to go to the hospital today. I should be checking these files.’ He brought his fist down heavily on top of the metal filing cabinet.

  ‘It’s important your mother keeps her appointment. Artie will stay here and go through the files, won’t you Artie?’

  Artie said yes.

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ Sid said, then mouthed, You.

  ‘If you don’t get away from the hospital until late in the afternoon, take your mum home and we’ll see you in the morning.’ Ena took the piece of paper out of Sid’s hand and wrote on the back. Me - Nurse, Hospital, Hove. See you at mine - PM.

  Sid was first to leave the office taking half a dozen unread files with him - and Ena’s house keys. Artie left next, wearing overalls and carrying a telephone engineer’s toolbox. Ena checked the window was fastened and the kettle was unplugged but left on the lights and the wireless.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  There was no one about. Ena walked along the first floor corridor until she got to the room where Mac Robinson had died. The pulse in her temples started to throb and her heart was beating like a drum. She poked her head around the door. The room was empty, the bed had been stripped and the curtains were drawn.

  Two young nurses appeared and without acknowledging Ena went into Mac’s room.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Ena said, following them in. ‘A friend of mine was in this room until a couple of weeks ago. I was wondering if either of you had been on this ward when he was here.’

  The nurses looked at each other and shook their heads.

  ‘His name was McKenzie Robinson?’

  Ena could see they were worried by her questions and said, ‘I’m not asking about him because he died. I’m asking because Mr Robinson’s daughter is a friend of mine and I would like to send her a sympathy card. The thing is, I can’t remember her address. I was wondering if either of you met her?’

  ‘No,’ the fair-haired nurse said.

  ‘We don’t have anything to do with patients or visitors,’ the darker of the two girls added. ‘We’re only probationers.’

  ‘Trainee nurses. We change beds and things.’

  ‘This is our first week on this ward.’

  ‘The ward sister’s office is along the corridor,’ the fair-haired nurse said, ‘Sister Walker will be able to tell you who nursed your friend.’

  Ena saw a flash of navy out of the corner of her eye. ‘Thank you.’ She left the trainee nurses to get on with their work and headed off down the corridor. She knocked on the door of the ward sister’s office and waited until she was called in.

  ‘Mrs Green, isn’t it?’ Ena looked surprised.

  ‘Reception told me you were here. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’d like to speak to the nurse who was with Mr Robinson on the day he died?’

  Sister Walker stiffened and frowned. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘No, not at all. The nurse was excellent. All the staff were.’ Sister Walker didn’t volunteer any information as to the nurse’s whereabouts. Ena thought, she is waiting for an explanation from me. ‘She may have met Mr Robinson’s daughter and I wanted to ask her if–’ Ena had a split second to think of a name, ‘Frieda had left a forwarding address.’

  ‘Mr Robinson’s daughter’s name was not Frieda, Mrs Green.’

  ‘Oh, I thought–’ Ena felt her cheeks colour. Why had she said Frieda?

  Sister Walker consulted the ward’s visitors book. ‘Robinson? Robinson?’ she said, flicking back through the pages. ‘Ah, here we are. Mr Robinson’s daughter’s name is Ena Dudley.’

  Ena stared at her maiden name. Bile rose from her stomach and stuck in her throat. She swallowed to clear it. ‘Excuse me.’ Turning away from Sister Walker, Ena held the back of a chair and began to cough.

  The sister crossed to a small sink in the corner of her office, turned on the tap and poured a glass of water. Ena took the glass in shaking hands and drank its contents down in one. ‘A tickle in my th
roat,’ she whispered, unbuttoning her coat. ‘It’s hot in here.’

  ‘Hospitals are always warm. With sick and vulnerable patients the temperature has to be kept constant.’

  ‘Are you sure Ena Dudley was the name of Mr Robinson’s daughter?’ Ena asked, regaining her composure.

  ‘Oh yes, Dudley was her married name. She said she dropped Mrs when she got divorced.’

  ‘But you can’t be sure that was her name, can you?’

  ‘I can actually. I saw her driving licence.’

  Ena’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  ‘One of the nurses went in to check on Mr Robinson and found someone she hadn’t seen before standing at his bedside. She quite rightly reported back to me and I went to investigate. You can’t be too careful these days, especially as Mr Robinson held an important position in… Well, never mind. I asked the woman who she was and she showed me her driving licence. A lovely young woman.’ The sister’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you say Miss Dudley was a friend of yours?’

  ‘Er, yes. I haven’t seen her for years, which is why I didn’t know she had been married, but yes, Ena and I go back a long way. I don’t suppose you have her address, do you?’

  ‘There was no need to take her address. Now, Mrs Green, if that is all, I really must get on.’ The sister walked briskly across the room and opened the door.

  ‘Could I ask you one more question?’ Ena said, drawing level with her. Sister Walker looked down at the fob watch on the breast pocket of her uniform. ‘Just one question, and then I’ll go.’ The sister nodded. ‘Thank you. Was Mr Robinson’s daughter here on the day he died?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know why you’re asking all these questions. It’s most inappropriate…’

  ‘I work for the same agency as Director Robinson.’ Ena paused to let the significance of what she had said sink in. ‘It is important, or I wouldn’t ask.’

  ‘No. She was here the day before her father died, but not on the morning he died.’

  Driving past Eve Robinson’s house, Ena was consumed with guilt. She put her foot down and soon Hove and Brighton were behind her. She hoped Sid had found the bugs in her flat, if there were any, so they could speak freely. She hoped too that the landlord had found a glazier to repair the kitchen window. If he hadn’t it would mean another sleepless night.

  Ena yawned. Her eyes felt heavy. She closed them, telling herself it was only for a second. Suddenly her head jerked back and she sat up with a jolt. Feet away from the car in front of her, Ena slammed her foot on the brake. She wound down the Sunbeam’s window and breathed in the cold air.

  Driving with the window open made her teeth chatter. It also stopped her from falling asleep.

  She glanced at her wristwatch. It was five o’clock. She was ravenous and pulled up outside Comstock’s Fish and Chip Shop in Stockwell. There was no food at home so Sid would be hungry too. ‘Fish and chips twice please.’

  Her mouth watered watching Mr Comstock dip the cod fillets into a bowl of batter and drop one after the other into a large pan of boiling fat. While the fish sizzled and spat he scooped enough chips for half a dozen people onto sheets of paper. When the fish was cooked he took a long-handled fish turner, lifted each portion of crispy battered fish out of the bubbling fat, and tipped them on top of the chips. He then sprinkled both mounds of piping hot food with a generous helping of salt and vinegar. ‘Anything else, love?’ Ena shook her head, and Mr Comstock wrapped both meals in several sheets of newspaper.

  Ena paid Mr Comstock three shillings and left. She laid the steaming parcels on the passenger seat and drove home. Pulling up outside the flat she saw the sitting room light was on. She blew out her cheeks, relieved that Sid was still there.

  Grabbing the fish and chips, she left the car and locked it, ran up the steps and knocked on the door. ‘I hope you’re hungry,’ she said when Sid let her in. She thrust the fish and chips into his hands, dropped her bag on the floor and hung up her coat. Closing the door she followed Sid into the kitchen.

  ‘I was going to stop at the chippy on my way home,’ Sid said. ‘I brought a cheese sandwich for my lunch, but as usual, I ate it at eleven. I was beginning to feel hungry.’

  ‘Well, we have a feast here.’ Taking two trays from the cupboard beneath the window in the kitchen Ena noticed the glass had been replaced. ‘The glazier came then?’

  ‘Your landlord did it.’

  ‘Oh cripes.’ Ena gave the new pane of glass a prod. ‘He’s a skinflint, a Jack-of-all-trades, but that feels solid enough.’ Unwrapping what felt to Ena like a week’s worth of newspapers, she popped a chip into her mouth. ‘Hot!’ she gasped, breathing fast and fanning her mouth with her hand. ‘I’m going to eat mine out of the paper, do you want a plate?’

  ‘No. It’ll spoil the flavour.’

  ‘Come on then,’ Ena said, handing Sid a knife and fork and leading the way to the sitting room. ‘You’ve built a fire! I thought the flat felt warm when I came in.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind, I’m delighted. I was bitterly cold last night…’ Ena put her tray on the table and went back to the kitchen. ‘I’m going to have a beer. What would you like,’ she shouted, ‘Guinness or IPA?’

  ‘IPA, please.’

  ‘We’ve earned this,’ Ena said, pouring half a bottle of beer into each glass. Cheers!’ Twisting round in her chair, Ena stretched out her hand and picked up the notepad and pen from beside the telephone. While they ate she scribbled. Did you find any listening devices?

  Sid nodded and pointed to the telephone and the overhead light.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ask me how I got on at the hospital. Ena scribbled on the notepad.

  Sid nodded. ‘How did it go at the hospital? Was the woman who visited McKenzie Robinson his daughter?’

  ‘According to the ward sister I talked to she was,’ Ena said, shaking her head and mouthing, no.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Well, if the woman who visited Mac was his daughter, and I’ve no reason to think she wasn’t, she visited him the day before he died, so she couldn’t have killed him.’

  Sid looked surprised. ‘Then who did?’

  ‘I don’t think anyone did. I don’t think Mac was murdered. It’s more likely that Eve Robinson won’t accept her husband died of natural causes. The woman has lived with intrigue and conspiracy all her married life. She probably sees murder and treachery around every corner. Or, as Commander Dalton said, it was grief talking.’

  When they had finished eating Ena took the trays to the kitchen, returned with another bottle of beer and replenished their glasses. ‘What kind of day have you had?’

  Sid pointed to the overhead light and then to his ear. ‘Same old, same old.’

  ‘That good, aye?’

  He laughed. ‘When we’ve finished these,’ he picked up his glass of beer, ‘do you fancy a drink at the pub?’

  Looking up at the light fitting, Ena said, ‘Some other time, Sid, but not today. Damn it!’ she shouted. ‘Can you take the bloody thing down?’

  ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘Then take it down, will you? I’m not having some bloody Russian spy listening to my conversations in my own home, nor will I let him chase me out to the pub every time I want to talk to a friend.’

  Sid switched on the standard lamp at the side of the settee, then flicked off the ceiling light at the door. ‘I’ll give the bulb a couple of minutes to cool down.’ He went over to the telephone, lifted the receiver, and unscrewed the mouthpiece. ‘That’s one,’ he said, handing Ena a small black object.

  ‘Thank you.’ Ena examined the back of the device. ‘Mm… Smash it or put it somewhere safe for Henry to take to MI5?’

  ‘Okay.’ Sid took down the light shade and gave it to Ena. ‘Put this one with it,’ he chuckled, swapping the listening device for the shade.

  Ena took both pieces of invasive equipment to the bathroom, put them in the hand b
asin and tuned on the cold tap.

  Returning to the sitting room she said, ‘It was Frieda who visited Mac Robinson.’

  ‘So she could have killed him?’

  ‘Not according to the ward sister. Only his wife and his personal assistant were there the day he died.’

  ‘You don’t think either of them killed him do you?’

  ‘No. Eve worshipped Mac. And Helen Crowther had been his PA for as long as Mac had worked for MI5. I think Helen was a little in love with him too.’

  ‘Sure it couldn’t have been Helen? A woman scorned and all that?’

  Ena laughed. ‘I think the scorn would have manifested into murder a long time ago if Helen Crowther was the other woman. She wasn’t only Mac’s PA, she was his right hand at Five for thirty years. No, neither Eve nor Helen had reason to kill him. Besides, they were the only visitors Mac had that day, it would have been too obvious. What about you. What kind of day have you really had?’

  Sid sighed. ‘I’ve gone through every one of these files and, nothing. None of them should take precedence over what we already have. If we’re going to prioritise, there are a dozen files at the office with profiles of more suspicious characters than anyone in this lot. It’s the dodgy rogues in the files back at the office who we should be investigating.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll leave you and Artie to sort them out tomorrow. Which reminds me, have you heard from Artie?’

  ‘No. He hasn’t phoned here.’

  ‘Mmmm… He would have done if he’d had anything to report, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘I’d have thought so.’

  ‘Time enough to find out about Madam Romanovski of Holland Park tomorrow,’ Ena said, ‘or is there?’

  Sid gave her a quizzical look. ‘What’s on your mind? Now we can speak freely, what did you find out at the hospital in Hove?’

  ‘That McKenzie Robinson’s supposed daughter’s name wasn’t Frieda or Romanovski.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘What I said about the ward sister at the hospital and Mac’s supposed daughter was true. A woman claiming to be Mac’s daughter did visit him.’